After the Fall
by AfterArawn
Summary: This fanfiction attempts to narrate what happened between the end of The Reichenbach Fall and the beginning of The Empty Hearse. It is told from three viewpoints: Sherlock's, John's, and Moriarty's. Instead of putting a disclaimer in all the chapters, I'll put one here: I don't own any of the characters, the BBC does. Please read and review; it would make me happy :)
1. The Fall

I can't say I was surprised. It was always a possibility, but I had hoped it wouldn't come to this.

It is also possible that he is not dead. After all, I employed sleight of hand, couldn't he have as well? He even said, "You are me."

But it is not safe to assume he is alive, though he might be, and as such I had to jump, even if it did break John's heart, even if I've lost everyone's respect, even if I'm more alone than ever now.

I'm finding it difficult to keep my emotions in check. I used to have no difficulty whatsoever, but something has changed. I'm not sure what.

* * *

He never seemed suicidal to me. He always reasoned things out so carefully. He never let his emotions get in his way, even that time with the Hound, and isn't suicide driven by emotions? It doesn't fit...

But I can't figure out how he could still be alive. Who knows? Maybe it is a miracle, maybe it's not.

Ella thinks I'm in denial. She also thought I was haunted by the war.

My limp is back.

* * *

I had been so worried that he actually was average, normal, ordinary, obvious, but he assured me I had worried for no reason. I mean, sure, he let his emotions choose to take the fall, but I sometimes let my emotions choose for me, too. The difference between us and average people is that we only give in to our emotions when it is logical to do so.

But I'm rambling... oh, I might as well! It was strange seeing him fall. It seemed that he was indeed ordinary, even after the whole "I am you, you are me" thing. He died. Like everyone else does, he died. Although, there was something... peculiar... about his death. Something wasn't quite right...

I don't think he's dead. I think he pulled off quite an extraordinary little trick, but he isn't dead. I can tell that much. But how did he do it? How?


	2. The Funeral

I found it incredibly strange to attend my own funeral. Naturally, I came in disguise. A surprising number of people came. I thought it would just be John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and maybe a few from my homeless network. As it turned out, not only did John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade come, but my entire homeless network, most of the people whose cases I solved, and a shocking amount of people I'd never met came. I couldn't believe it.

At first I was incredibly happy. I had trouble keeping an enormous grin off my face. I couldn't smile at a funeral! Then I realized it hadn't worked. Everyone was supposed to think I created Moriarty, that I was a fake, but more than half of the funeral-goers looked sincerely sad! Could this be a problem? Could Moriarty have created a fail-safe so that if no one actually believed my lie he could still win? He could have... yes, he could have...

I'll have to determine whether or not he is actually dead. I suspect he is, but I have to be certain. Then, if he is alive, I'll have to find him. I'm not sure what will happen after that, but those two actions should be enough to deal with at the moment.  
Oh, this is exciting!

* * *

I was rather surprised at the number of people who turned out for his funeral. He had helped improve most of their lives by solving cases. He had said he was a fake, but I don't believe that after seeing that crowd. No one can deceive that many people.

Maybe I am in denial. Maybe he actually was crazy and thought he was a fake, even though he wasn't. One thing I am sure about now though is that Sherlock Holmes was not fake. He truly was a genius. He had some humanity that he kept hidden. He would call it sentiment and he would sneer at the mere thought of it, but I think that deep down he would feel good about doing good. Maybe. I never could fathom his feelings.

Ella wants me to continue writing on my blog, but I have nothing to write. She would want me to write this sort of stuff on my blog, but it's just... not the same.

* * *

I went to his funeral. It was so amusing watching those ordinary people blubber about what a great guy he was. Oh, don't get me wrong! I know that that means he didn't convince them, but I have a plan!

And if it turns out he isn't dead, which is seeming more and more likely, I have a plan for that too. I like plans.


	3. The Grave

I guess I wasn't prepared for John's words at my grave. Best man? Me? No one could think that. I'm an absolute menace, a nuisance! What have I done for him that he would owe me "so much"? If anything, I owe him. He helped me organize my thoughts. He did a much better job than Skully. And the companionship was nice. And what does he mean he was "so alone"? He had friends! I was alone! No one understood what it was like to harbor such genius in one skull, and the ones who had an idea were the ones trying to kill me.

In regard to the problem of Moriarty's supposed death, I have gone over the events of that day constantly. Nothing stands out. I clearly saw him shoot himself, didn't I?  
Wait, did I?

I think I blinked. Yes, I did blink. I blinked! He could have done anything in the split second my eyes were closed! I wonder if I can find his fake body. I need to run tests on it. Just to be sure.

* * *

It's been months since he fell. My resolve solidified after I visited his grave. He's not dead.

Ella thought it might make me feel better if I sort of took a poll of people's opinions of him. She wouldn't have suggested it if she weren't certain everyone had a good opinion of him.

So, I asked around. The people who had met him in real life all said he was the rudest person they'd ever met, but they all whole heartedly agreed that he was also the most brilliant person they'd ever met. Some of them even went so far as to say he had a good heart, but that it was just shrouded in a calculating mind. The people who had only known him from the news all said he was a genius, but they had no perception of his character.

I've been told that only I know his true character. I suppose that's true, though thinking about it makes me feel even more alone because he's the only one who knows my true character. And now he's gone.

Just gone, not dead.

* * *

I've been keeping an eye on John Watson. I would worry that he might ruin everything, but I already have plans for that. I have considered everything.

For instance, if he should attempt to get the general public to believe that Sherlock Holmes is alive, not a fake, or both, I will simply discredit him. I will set the situation where he looks like he's seeing things. To do that I simply have a crime committed in front of him and then provide evidence that proves whatever he saw is wrong. Then I will get a reporter to spread stories of his instability and later of his insanity. I might even get his therapist involved.

If he figures out I'm alive and comes after me, I won't be worried. The chance that he would know I'm alive is very low, and that he would be able to find me is even lower! However, if I hear any news that he is coming for me, I'll set a few assassins on him. No worries.


	4. Life Goes On

It is hardly difficult to exhume a body, even when trying to conceal your identity. The difficult way to go about it is the way with licenses and authorized experts and other such legal obstacles. I went the easy way by going to his grave in disguise in the middle of the night, digging up the coffin, taking some samples, and reburying the coffin. I made sure to remove any trace that I was there, even though I doubt anyone would visit his grave. I suppose I could be wrong about that. Now that I think about it, I don't know much about his personal life. Perhaps I should remedy that.

As I was walking to the cheap flat I bought, I glanced up at the sky. It's a habit now. The stars remind me of John. He can see the same stars I can, so even though it feels like we're really far away, we're not, and there's also that time with the five pips... stupid sentiment.

Anyway, I need to get some samples of DNA that I'm positive are Moriarty's, but I'll go ahead and make the hybridization probes.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson was sad to see me leave, and I was sad to go, but I can't afford to live on Baker Street any more, and the flat reminds me of him too much.

So now I've got a job as a doctor and a cheap flat. Nothing interesting is happening, though. It's just the same thing, every day, day after day, week after week.

No. I'm not just going to be some machine. I need to find a hobby or something. It's not going to be the same, but I have to try something.

* * *

John Watson is being dreadfully dull. I was rather hoping he'd figure out I'm alive or cause a stir of some sort, but this ordinary routine has gotten old. Yeah, sure, I'll keep an eye on him, but in the meantime I'm going to try to get back to the consultant criminal business. New name, new face, new clients, and life will be worth living again. Then, once I'm back to my old self, I'll hunt down Sherlock Holmes, and the games will start again.


	5. Bit of a Slump

I watched Kitty Riley's home for two days, just to get a feel for when she's in and when she's not. Seeing as that was the last place I saw Moriarty before we were on the rooftop, I thought it would be a good place to try to find DNA samples. It's all chance though, she's probably gotten rid of all his things, and the sample I pick up might not even be his, but it's worth a try. Maybe I should get a sample of her DNA, just to make sure I'm not confusing her DNA with his.

That's why I broke into her home. It was ridiculously easy, too. All I had to do was pick a very simple lock. You'd think more people would invest in an alarm system. Maybe I should steal something just to get her to understand her stupidity.

Anyway, there's nothing of Moriarty's here. It was a long shot, but I'm still disappointed. I think I'll just leave her a note with suggestions on securing her home.

* * *

I thought I might as well have a normal hobby, so I went to the mystery section of the bookstore and started browsing. Unfortunately, every time I picked up a book and read the description I started thinking about cases Sherlock solved and how he would probably solve the one in the book. Then I'd have to put the book back because it made me too sad. I decided to look in a different section.

Unfortunately, none of the books seemed particularly interesting, and I got a little frustrated that I couldn't just choose a book. I left soon after. I like reading, but I guess today was just a bad day. Maybe I'll think of a different hobby or find a good book on the internet. Maybe something interesting will happen.

* * *

I like the name Charles. Friends could call me Charlie, if I had friends. Then my middle name could be Augustus, the great Roman emperor, and I like the name Magnussen. It's really interesting, don't you think? And, of course, the "magnus" part means "great," which I am. I like that. Charles Augustus Magnussen... it's a very _august_ name.

I chose a scholarly look for my new identity. I've got a little beard and some spectacles and some graying, thinning hair. This is turning out to be quite fun! I should change my identity more often.

It's so amusing that my old clients don't recognize me! I mean, how many people are in the consulting criminal business? Isn't it a little strange that I started my business only a couple of months after the other consulting criminal died? Are they really that stupid? Of course they're that stupid, that's why they need me.


	6. Juvenile

As it turns out, I don't even need to test anything anymore. Moriarty slipped up! I guess he assumed no one would look for him because they think he's dead, but I happened to be hacking into security footage in the London area. (I was bored because I couldn't think of a surefire way to get a DNA sample.) He was wearing a hat and sunglasses. That doesn't count as a disguise. It's really amateurish, kind of juvenile. I'm starting to doubt his validity as a criminal, but I guess he always did go for the simpler route while I tried to make it classier than it was.

So now I'm attempting to find other footage of him, and I'm also asking around as subtly as I can, but, so far, nothing else.

* * *

I was looking up stuff that people like to do and a lot of people were talking about World of Warcraft, so I think I'll try that.

I also asked some friends for book recommendations, and more than one recommended The Art of War. So I guess I'll read that.

Why am I so bored? Yes, I know why, I'm just trying not to think about it. Even though I said I didn't believe he was dead, I'm starting to doubt myself. I want to believe he's alive, but I really have no evidence. Maybe Ella was right and I was in denial. I suppose I'm now in the acceptance stage of grief. I'm want to move on with my life, but it's difficult.

* * *

I have a delightfully childish job. It's actually a child who's hired me. An especially rich little juvenile delinquent, he is. Anyway, he wants to wreck his daddy's company. I do love childish jobs. They're so pointlessly fun. I've already picked out the weak link in the company. One of the janitors is going to get a little message from me soon. One little message will bring the entire company down...


	7. A Twist

I ran into John today. It was quite an accident. I wasn't paying attention. I have to say it jolted me. I've been completely absorbed in trying to find Moriarty, and for what? For him. I suppose. I've been trying not to think of him too much. I should mention that I was in disguise, of course. It would be too foolish not to be. I just can't think of how to find Moriarty. There must be some way...

I need to know about his past. I'll find out if there's any place he's emotionally attached to, although I find the idea of emotion in him quite ridiculous. Maybe there's someone he trusts enough to go to, but I can't image that he would trust anyone either. Would he? Perhaps somewhere he went as a child. As a child... What must he have been like as a child? I really don't know anything at all about him. Not a thing...

* * *

I had just started talking with a patient when the building next door exploded. That doesn't happen everyday, so naturally I was curious. I joined the crowd of spectators, and I saw that the top half of the building was just gone, leaving a sad, jagged edge. Most of the employees had been at a big meeting on the first floor, so there were very few casualties. Two people were injured. Only one death. A janitor had apparently decided to commit suicide buy blowing up half of the building.

I wonder why the janitor would choose to blow himself up like that? It's very unusual. I think I might look into it.

* * *

Well, I didn't mean for him to blow the place up! He was supposed to just crash their server during that presentation on the first floor. Just to make them look bad and maybe even lose some money or something, I don't even know anymore! He was perfect for that job. He hacked websites as a teen for fun. He was a janitor so he could go anywhere. He must have been suicidal before I sent him that note.

The saddest truth is that I've gotten rusty. I've lost my touch. I should have looked into his mental stability. I should have looked into his private life more than I did. I should have known better. I should have known more.

On the bright side, the rich kid thought it was "bloody brilliant." I swear, something is wrong with that kid. He has a wonderfully twisted mind. I'm glad he's now a loyal client. He might become useful.


	8. Some Research

You might think the police would keep a close watch on their records. You'd be wrong. It was stupidly easy for me to steal Moriarty's record. It was nothing shocking. I knew all of it anyway. I just had to make sure.

I then wasted exactly 27 hours and 52 minutes trying to find information about him on the internet. Again, it was only stuff I already knew.

But maybe I can get more than his records from the police. I'll just pay a little visit to their evidence lockers and hopefully I'll have a lead.

* * *

The janitor's name was Paul Smith. He didn't have any close family. No wife, no kids, no girlfriend, no parents, aunts, or uncles. The closest family he had were a couple of second cousins, and they had only seen him at Christmas when they were little. The people at the office said they never spoke to him, and his landlord said he only went out to go to work or the grocery store. That's really unusual. It's about as secluded and alone as a person can get. No wonder he blew up the place.

I went to the police and asked if he had a diary or a journal or anything. They told me that his flat only had two chairs, a table, and a bed. Of course he also had a sink and a bathtub and a fridge and all that, but no computer or pictures or anything. There was nothing written or typed anywhere, and the police said there were no fingerprints in his flat at all, not even his own. Then the police told me that they could handle their own cases and I should go back to my own life, but I can't do that. Paul Smith's supposed suicide is too bizarre for me to ignore.

* * *

I decided to do a little background check on the kid, just in case. I think I'll have him as a sort of protégé, but I needed to make sure he isn't stupid or untrustworthy first. Anyway, he checks out. He likes to vandalize and play juvenilely illegal pranks. Those are wonderful starting points. In a couple of years maybe he'll learn a more elegant way to relieve his boredom. Also, he has access to his daddy's bank account (though not with daddy's permission). That could be very helpful.


	9. Returning to Roots

Nothing. Absolutely nothing! I just can't find anything about Moriarty. This is really bothering me. Oh god, I'm so bored! I would give anything to talk to John, or even just to see John.

I know this is a very bad idea. It's probably the worst thing I could do under the circumstances, but I really just want to see him, and I would be incognito. I want to make sure he's okay. I want to make sure I'm okay.

* * *

The police have decided that Paul Smith committed suicide, so now the case is officially closed. I can't stop thinking about it though. It's a strange set of circumstances, something must have been going on, but the police can't think of anything and neither can I. If only he were here. He would love this.

I was thinking of him when someone knocked on my door. It was a man looking for his dog, who apparently went missing two days ago. He seemed so distressed I offered to make him tea. This cheered him up quite considerably. He told me I reminded him of a friend he used to have, and then the conversation turned to my life, which he seemed very interested in. He was very friendly. I told him I'd keep an eye out for his dog.

* * *

The kid and I have rented out 221B Baker Street. I thought that would be a fitting place to live, and he needs to stay close so I can teach him. We can go skipping into the sunset together like Sherlock and John. We can make crimes the way they solved them. Crime is an art that you learn by doing after all, and the kid really needs to learn.

Anyway, we haven't done anything fun in a while. Just been "getting settled," which is extraordinarily boring. Mrs. Hudson has been slightly interesting to talk to. I've been asking her about Sherlock. I haven't been able to get rid of that small little voice at the back of my head that says he isn't dead. I'm not sure what to do about it though, and that's new for me.


	10. Another Rut

I ran into John today. It was quite an accident. I wasn't paying attention. I have to say it jolted me. I've been completely absorbed in trying to find Moriarty, and for what? For him. I suppose. I've been trying not to think of him too much. I should mention that I was in disguise, of course. It would be too foolish not to be. I just can't think of how to find Moriarty. There must be some way...

I need to know about his past. I'll find out if there's any place he's emotionally attached to, although I find the idea of emotion in him quite ridiculous. Maybe there's someone he trusts enough to go to, but I can't image that he would trust anyone either. Would he? Perhaps somewhere he went as a child. As a child... What must he have been like as a child? I really don't know anything at all about him. Not a thing...

* * *

I had just started talking with a patient when the building next door exploded. That doesn't happen everyday, so naturally I was curious. I joined the crowd of spectators, and I saw that the top half of the building was just gone, leaving a sad, jagged edge. Most of the employees had been at a big meeting on the first floor, so there were very few casualties. Two people were injured. Only one death. A janitor had apparently decided to commit suicide buy blowing up half of the building.

I wonder why the janitor would choose to blow himself up like that? It's very unusual. I think I might look into it.

* * *

Well, I didn't mean for him to blow the place up! He was supposed to just crash their server during that presentation on the first floor. Just to make them look bad and maybe even lose some money or something, I don't even know anymore! He was perfect for that job. He hacked websites as a teen for fun. He was a janitor so he could go anywhere. He must have been suicidal before I sent him that note.

The saddest truth is that I've gotten rusty. I've lost my touch. I should have looked into his mental stability. I should have looked into his private life more than I did. I should have known better. I should have known more.

On the bright side, the rich kid thought it was "bloody brilliant." I swear, something is wrong with that kid. He has a wonderfully twisted mind. I'm glad he's now a loyal client. He might become useful.


	11. Moving On

I got a dog. I made sure my description was of a trainable dog so I could make sure it acted like I've been its owner for years. I've given it a collar with its silly name and with my phone number. Then I set it loose in near John's flat. I also trained it to stay in that general area, just to make sure he finds it.

That explosion John was looking into is interesting. There's something decidedly off about it, but I can't quite put my finger on it yet.

* * *

I've started just wandering around. I think I'm hoping something interesting will happen, but I can't be sure. Sometimes I try to figure out Paul Smith, but then I get frustrated because I can't. I know it's solvable, it must be solvable. It must be. But I'm useless. I'm obviously not meant to be a detective. I should just stick to being a doctor. I'll have to get used to it. I suppose.

* * *

The kid has a real knack for bombs. He can make a bomb out of pretty much anything. All I have to do is teach him when to use his skills. And he's very eager to learn. I think I've already said that. I'm just really surprised by his eagerness.

Anyway, someone wanted me to fill up their bank account for them, so now I'm teaching him how to hack into the bank's records without being noticed. Should be fun.


	12. Strange Sort of Therapy

Creepy thing happened. Mycroft did this to John one time. I never thought anyone would do it to me though. The weirdest thing is that he made his calls in the same places Mycroft called John on the day we first looked at 221B together, it was the same car too, but Mycroft had nothing to do with this. I was obviously very curious, so I went ahead and got in the car.

The driver even took me to the same parking garage. There was a group of chairs in a circle, almost like a support group. Two other cars arrived at the same time mine did. The driver opened the door for me. I got out, walked to the circle, and took a seat. Two police officers sat down next to me, as did John. Yes, John was there. I was quite surprised to see him and quite glad I was in disguise. Of course, he recognized me as the man with a missing dog. He told me he found the dog too, but I didn't really care except it meant I'd get to talk to him more, even if it's not much more.

So here we all were. Two police officers, an army doctor, and a dead man. Just sitting there, looking at each other awkwardly, waiting for an unknown someone to fill that empty chair.

Then I heard footsteps.

"Sorry I'm late. I hope I haven't kept you waiting for too long."

By my watch it had been an hour and twenty-three minutes.

"I'll bet you're wondering why I've called you all here tonight."

I'll bet he's waited his whole life to say those words.

"It has to do with Paul Smith."

Ooh. He finally caught my attention. John's too, apparently. And the two officers'.

"You have all been very interested in his recent suicide, haven't you? You looked into it long after everyone else gave up, did you not? I applaud you for your perseverance. In fact, you are here tonight because I want to offer each of you an opportunity."

Is it just me, or did John seem to perk up when he said that?

"You all have your special talents, some more than others..."

Creepy stare. Did he just give me a creepy stare?

"And those talents will help. If you choose to accept."

Stop dithering and get to the point!

"I am not going to divulge any information at this moment, but maybe at a later point I will."

He must be joking.

"Now, who feels like accepting?"

Even though he didn't tell us what we were accepting?

We all accepted anyway. The two officers looked at each other, silently communicating, and nodded. I hesitated. I looked at John. He didn't see. He said he felt like accepting. I said I was interested. I couldn't help it.

It's not the first irrational decision I've made. And all those other stupid choices worked out well enough. I mean, I'm still alive.

But then again, there is a first for everything...

* * *

I was wondering why Mycroft couldn't just call, but then it ended up not being Mycroft. I got the call from the same telephone booth and got into the same kind of car, which took me to the same parking garage. Two police officers and that bloke who lost his dog were also there.

We sat and waited for a long time before someone else joined us. He was obviously the one who called us together. He said it had to do with Paul Smith and that it was some sort of opportunity. I probably shouldn't have accepted his offer. It was pretty shady and uninformative, but once he mentioned Paul Smith I knew I had to. I was curious. I might even say I wanted a distraction.

* * *

I went client-hunting today. One eclectic old lady and a suave business man are apparently the only two people in London who want anything criminal done. I'm rather disappointed. I thought it would be just like the old days when I had hundreds of clients to keep track of. Two new clients isn't enough of a challenge.

I thought the kid might like a free day to maybe do his own client-hunting, so we went our separate ways, but he didn't try to get clients. I could tell. If he had he would have been bragging about it, but he didn't. Oh well, I guess it's none of my business what he does in his free time.


End file.
